


Come As You Are

by hungryhippo_11



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungryhippo_11/pseuds/hungryhippo_11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You really fancy one of Martin's shirts. He doesn't mind that one little bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Title is taken from the Nirvana track :)

It’s a hot, sticky night, and you’re sweaty, not to mention shitty, sprawling yourself across your side of the bed to keep your limbs from rubbing together if at all possible. Ideally you’d wear nothing if you could, but you’ve settled on a long sleeve shirt to protect you from mosquito bites. Only thing is, Martin is with you, and he’s not having a bar of that. He sidles up to you, sneaking his arms around your waist, the heat of his chest pressed to your spine, it makes you groan, irritated at the timing of this overture of his.

“No, not now–I’m too hot.”

“That’s what makes it fun. Though I was hoping you’d be a little more…naked.”

“Oh you know me and mosquitoes.”

He sighs. His foot idly strokes you up and down your shin, brushing your ankle before he entwines his calf around yours. All the while he plays circles over your belly, through this white striped shirt of his. His breath, warm and humid, clouding at the crook of your neck, flushing you up to your cheeks. “Not that I mind necessarily, but you’ve got plenty of clean nightshirts, yet you’re somehow much fonder of my dirty laundry.”

“Well, it’s the closest thing to having you all over me…when you’re not around.” There’s no shaking that satisfied little grin which takes hold of your mouth. Suddenly wanting to tease. “I like being able to feel every shift and ripple in the fabric against my skin, knowing that it’s touched yours. Be able to wallow in the smell of you.” You inhale a long, deep breath, like you’re reliving that moment, giving him just a little taste of it. “It’s simply delicious.”

“Mmmmmmmm,” his mouth lingers, soft at the back of your ear. Without seemingly realising it, he’s exploring your words, caressing the shirt along your sides, gathered at your waist, ruminating at your hips. Enjoying that gentle swirl and rub of fabric against your skin. “Tell me more.”

“When you’re away, I’ll pull out this shirt from the hamper and wear it to bed. Just so I can imagine how it would feel on you, soft, pliable. It fits your body so perfectly, stretching just that little bit across your belly when you’ve eaten well. Those patches of sweat, at your armpits, between your pecs. Slick at the small of your back on especially hot days.” Thankfully he can’t see your face while you pause, biting your lip. What you’re about to say has roused the biggest smirk imaginable, you’ve buttered him up so well. Which is exactly what he wanted. “Or after you’ve fucked me good and hard.”

You gasp at the moist dab of his tongue, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “So you really like me dirty and grimy then?”

“I love it so much I’d roll around the bed with the shirt on, lathering in your stench, feeling so naughty and satisfied, having played with your dirty laundry. Knowing that it would turn you on like this, catching me out.” If your heart wasn’t quite racing before, it certainly was now, declaring your innermost, private thoughts out loud for him to hear. When you’re surrounded by the heat of him, his arousal, folding in around you, you really can’t resist him–the words simply flow. “I want it all, the clean fresh soap you wash with, your cologne, your dirt, your sweat, the natural smell of your skin, your underarms, your balls, all of it. All of you. It makes me so wet…I just have to touch myself.”

Hugging you closer still, Martin lets his lips drift down to the crook of your shoulder, taking stock in your own smell, blended with his. “Good God, love…you need to share your fetishes with me more often.” He delves beyond the ridge of your hipbone, down toward your inner thigh. Those fingers curving, demanding a grip on your flesh, pulling your leg over his, spreading you open. Laid out right across his groin. You shut your eyes, mouth falling open at the feeling of his cock, settled against your ass. So hard you feel more of your wetness seep, a warm little gush between your legs. As if you weren’t already soaked enough.

“Only if you share your fetishes with me in return.”

“That’s a date.”

You chuckle, feeling him smile behind you, and you reach around, briefly feather a touch at the back of his neck. Curious to gauge your arousal, he approaches your navel, probing with his index and middle fingers, combing the sides of your folds. You’re addictively slick to his touch, so smooth that soon enough he impulsively crooks his fingers together, curling them within your walls as he dips inside your entrance, down to his second knuckle. That stiffens you, ruts your ass into his groin approvingly, grasping at the quilt beside you as he moves them in and out, a series of quick, shallow thrusts. You know he’s teasing, which only makes your moans hoarser, more desperate.

“Fuck, your cunt makes me SO. FUCKING. HARD,” he murmurs, “always so wet and juicy for me, for my fingers, for my cock, for my mouth. You really do just want everything all the time, don’t you?”

“Yessssss…OH GOD, YES,” you cry, already buzzing, his fingertips now concentrating on your already sensitive clit. Because that’s all he needs to do. Gently flickering your tender bud, feeling your folds swell, your whole body tense, hitting its peak.

“Fuck…yessssssssssss…fffffuckme…ohhhhhhhhhhhhh…aaaaahhhhhh…AAAAAAAHHHHH…”

That long string of expletives continues as you come, pulsing hard against his hand. Even though you’re panting, still caught in the haze, Martin doesn’t let up, kissing his way back to your jaw, skirting the fine skin bordering your throat. So enticing, the shadow of his lips at the corner of your mouth–you just can’t quite reach him, see him. Only feel. Those wet, gleaming fingers between your chest, hovering to cup at a breast, smothering the other as his hips rock into you, and you’re luxuriating in the sensation of his cock, nudged back and forth between your folds, wetness lubricating his shaft, the throb of another orgasm threatening.

“C'mon Martin, fuck me…fuck me hard…”

You’re licking your lips, the head of his cock nestled at your entrance. Gasping at that initial push, slicing you through like soft fruit. He draws back and plunges into you again, deeper this time.

“FUUUUUUUUCK!!”

“Like that?”

You could smell the smarm in his tone.

“I could go much harder, actually. Good warm up though.”

Grunting his smirk, he works at snapping his hips, thrusts sharp, smacking into you, his bush tickling at your folds. At this point it’s not even about him hitting your spot. It’s his usually smooth darkly voice scrambled, hot, cursing your name. How he’s enveloped you completely, fingers raked firm over your thigh, braced across your chest, keeping you spread for him, thrusts tearing you up between your legs. This is where your pleasure spreads from, surging everywhere through your veins, springing tension in your muscles.

“That’s it…that’s it…ohhhhhh fuck, yeah, I…ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

The very tips of your fingers claw for the quilt again, curling your toes with the throes of orgasm. You’re arching around him, grinding your hips down on his cock as he mouths your throat hungrily, groaning louder and louder.

“Oh fuck…OH FUCK…yesss…YESSSSSSSSS…AHHHHHHH!!”

As he comes, a spasm of frenzied bucking, that familiar thick fluid of heat, of him, spills inside you. He holds you close, riding out the euphoria until your bodies are stilled, calm.  
“My fingers, my cock…you ready for my mouth?”

You whimper at the thought. “Tasting yourself inside me…”

Within a few moments, he’s managed to untangle himself from you, rolling you over to face him while he stretches out his legs, elbow propping up his head before you. For the first time tonight, you catch his gaze, sleepy, soft. Face glowing, perspiration streaked across his forehead, lines creasing as he squints, blinks, the faintest tinge of blush on his cheeks. He sweeps his arm across his brow. Runs fingers through his slicked grey hair. From your vantage point, his ribcage is faintly visible in the dim lamp light, rising and falling. Chest faintly sprinkled with downy hair, especially around his nipples. His pale, lean body shines with sweat, supported by those sturdy thighs, at their centre his pubis, a neat dark patch of curly hair shrouding his cock, rested to the right, softer, muted. Perfect in his imperfection, the iconic wrinkles shadowed under his eyelids, the wee rounded pouch of his belly.

“You’re beautiful, you know.”

“Aw, don’t get sentimental on me now. Not when I’m about to go down on you.” He turns on that Hollywood smile of his. Winks.

Chest still heaving, you’re flat on your back, legs spreading for him, crawling up between them. Finding yourself barely capable of forming coherent words. All you can see is cock and balls, heavy and meaty, swinging between his legs. “You really are gonna be the end of me.”

“I know,” comes his jaunty, sing-song reply. Almost evil. He’s knelt between your hitched-up knees, grabbing your kneecaps, and you can’t stop staring at the convergence of his neck muscles ending in a ‘v’ at that neat little intersection of his throat, bordered by his collarbones, extending out to his shoulders, the solid expanse of his chest. Those biceps are bulging, his touch spanning the length of your thighs, ensuring your legs are parted nice and wide, and you shudder in anticipation. Close now…so close.

Martin is contemplating the same, making a point of slipping his hands underneath the shirt at your sides, taking a firm grip of the flesh of your hips. Studying your pussy, that tongue of his emerging, snaked over his upper lip, which only adds to the agony. A lusty gleam in his eyes that, once he fixes them upon you, you cannot bear to look away from. Especially as he leans down, the heat of his breath gradually warming your pubis. There. He’s grinning, mouth opening ever-so-slowly and it makes you ooze with wetness. Right as he’s poised to make contact, he pauses. Bats his lashes for dramatic effect. It very nearly cracks you up.

“By the way, you can keep the shirt.”


End file.
